((I was trying to get to sleep, when this idea came to me rather spontaneously. So I quickly typed it up. Whether or not I continue is yet to be determined))

Icy cold.

That was the only way to truly capture how the rain felt, that night.

In retrospect, I’m not quite sure what I was thinking…

At the corner of a dark alleyway, a shadowed figure of man stood, oddly relaxed considering the heavy rain and freezing winds that were currently bearing down upon him and anyone else outside on such a dreadful night. He appeared, from his body language, to be completely unphased by weather so horrible it should send any sane person running for shelter and warmth. But then, that was the key word, wasn’t it? Sane.

He seemed somehow preoccupied, yet casually indifferent, just judging from how his shadow stood, there was not even the slightest hint that he had heard her quiet footsteps getting closer, and closer. That is, until in one swift motion, he whipped a silver pistol out from under his trench coat and pointed it towards her, freezing her in her tracks.

“Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?” he remarked idly, holding the gun steadily at her head, right between her eyes, somehow knowing exactly where to aim despite there not being enough light to see more than her silhouette. “So, you’ve finally tracked me down, have you? And now what? Didn’t anyone tech you it’s dangerous for such a pretty girl to wander these streets at night. Oh, silly me, you’re a police detective, you’re a big girl who can take care of herself, track down one of the most wanted criminals in this day and age and bring him in all by herself.” His shadow turned to look at her, “I guess you made a miscalculation somewhere, don’t you?”

Chuckling to himself, he slowly lowered his weapon, “No, I’m not going to shoot you, where’s the fun in that.” And after putting it back away inside his trenchcoat, he pulled out a small object. One quick flicker, and he held a match in his hand, shielding it from the icy rain with the other, finally illuminating his face. Such a familiar face, there were pictures of it everywhere. That long, dark hair, almost down to his waist and tied back loosly in a ponytail, the odd stray hair falling forwards to fall over his face. Those hazel eyes, staring with more mild curiosity and amusement than the malice they bear in the posters of his likeness. And that subtle smirking smile, oh how that smile could invoke terror in the very core of people.

“So similar to a human life, this match.” he said in an idle manner. “Small, yet bright, full of passion, of potential, and of warmth. And yet…” he flicked the match away, which was almost instantly doused by the beating rain “so very fragile, and easily extinguished.” He turned on her, and began up the alleyway some distance, before stopping at a door and opening it. She, for some reason, could do nothing but watch him, frozen in her place. “Well then, Ms. Detective” he called to her, “If you want me, come and get me. But know this; this is your last chance to walk away.” And with that, he stepped through the door, and it closed behind him,.